


Day (You Love Who You Love)

by euhemeria



Series: And, In Sign of Ancient Love, Their Plighted Hands They Join [76]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anniversary, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2020-12-27 05:44:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21113663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euhemeria/pseuds/euhemeria
Summary: Perhaps Fareeha cannot promise Angela an eternity, or even ten years, twenty, can only promise that for now, while she yet breathes, she is here with Angela, wants to be with her, wants to have as much of a future as they are able, but Angela does not ask her for more than that.Or,After two years together, Fareeha begins to see differently all the little ways in which she and Angela have tied themselves to one another.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bigsleepy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigsleepy/gifts).

> a little birthday present for skitch <3 and also a little late LMAO

Certain dates are important, hold a good deal of significance, shape the course of one’s life or relationships. Here are some dates which matter to Fareeha:

August 17th—her birthday. For most people the significance of the date would be just that, a birth, an anniversary of their coming into the world, and while Fareeha will not deny that she enjoys her birthday, it is not particularly important to her. Yes, she was born on that day, but everyone is born, at one point or another. Far more important to her is the fact that on that same day, 18 years later, she officially enlisted. From that day forward, she has been a soldier, has been a part of the Amari family legacy, has been able to fully pursue her dream, her purpose in life: to help others, to protect them.

November 5th and 7th—her mother’s birthday, and her “death” day. Close together as they are, Fareeha knows that she will never experience either day the same way again, even though she knows, now, that her mother is alive, is somewhere out there, is watching her, and watching over her, too. If they ever meet again, as Ana has increasingly suggested that they might, in her letters, which Fareeha does not return, then Fareeha does not know what she will do when those days come again. It would feel impossible to celebrate her mother’s birth, so close to the day she thought she was lost, for regardless of the fact that Ana lived, those days are… difficult.

December 19th—when Overwatch was shut down. This was, for Fareeha, a second sort of death, just a year past her mother’s, and it came at a time she still believed Ana to be dead. With this, she lost not only her own opportunity to join Overwatch, but a part of her mother’s sadaqah jariyah, which ought to have ensured her benefit after death. Then, Fareeha thought, all the pressure of sadaqah fell to her, and with what she knew then of how Overwatch had truly conducted itself, she knew that Ana would need a good deal of it. Although Fareeha herself is not particularly religious, has never been, she worried, then, about what Ana would have thought, wondered if she would have believed Fareeha were doing enough to protect her soul. It felt like losing her a second time.

May 13th—she and Angela’s anniversary.

Today.

They are not married, have not even discussed marriage, and from what Fareeha knows about Angela, and her desire to not be tied down too much in one place, her need to always be able to go where it is she is needed, Fareeha doubts if they ever will get married. Therefore, this anniversary, that of their relationship beginning, must be especially significant, since they will have no other anniversary.

(In truth, not marrying suits Fareeha well enough. Having had one proposal rejected, a handful of years before, Fareeha is not terribly keen on proposing for a second time.) 

Furthermore, a marriage seems increasingly unimportant in the face of what Fareeha is beginning to realize she and Angela have _already._

No, they are not married, but lately, it feels as if they may as well be. They have altered their schedules to further accommodate one another, take meals together, and, as of five months ago, live together, the two of them now sharing Angela’s quarters full time, sometimes going to bed together, sometimes waking together, but always aware, even when they are not able to rise or to sleep at the same time, at some point in the night they will share a space, and that is enough for Fareeha, to know that they are together, when they can be.

(And recently, they also have started to schedule their sex life. As unromantic as that may sound on the surface, Fareeha quite enjoys it, appreciates that she and Angela always make time for one another, that they have made this a priority, so that no matter how busy they are, they still see something of one another, now and again. That, to her, is more romantic than an illusion of spontaneity could ever be.)

So, today is important. It is the second anniversary of the day she and Angela agreed to be a couple, decided, formally, what that would mean, for them, what that would look like, and committed to at least _trying _to be a couple.

And, so far, that trying has gone quite well. Things started slowly, and progressed even more so, it taking them nearly a year before they actually slept together, for several reasons, but it has been worth the wait, it has. In so little time, they have grown to rely on one another, learning vulnerability and intimacy and what it means to love someone, and want a future with them, despite the daily reminder in their line of work that nothing is ever certain. 

Perhaps Fareeha cannot promise Angela an eternity, or even ten years, twenty, can only promise that for now, while she yet breathes, she is here with Angela, wants to be with her, wants to have as much of a future as they are able, but Angela does not ask her for more than that. Sometimes, Fareeha gets the sense that Angela wants more, wants some sort of tangible commitment, something that she can have, and hold, and say _this is real_, but she has never asked for as much, not in as many words, and they are content, they are, show their devotion to one another in other ways. When Fareeha builds Angela a garden, there is a thought, unspoken, there—that although Fareeha would never ask Angela to stay, if she felt she needed to leave, although she will never demand it of her, understands the desire to not be tied to Overwatch, or anywhere, ever again, she also knows that Angela is here for the foreseeable future, trusts that, barring some great change, Angela will continue to choose to be with her.

(To Mei, while building the garden, Fareeha expressed this sentiment, and Mei agreed with her, how lovely it is to know that one’s partner chooses them, every day, to be aware that no matter what the events of the day before were, one’s partner is still here because they want to be, not because of some misguided obligation. Fareeha does not see the state of their respective relationships quite the same way, but it is a nice lens from which to view things, now and again.)

Barring some large change, Fareeha thinks that this is the way things shall be, for quite some time to come, and she is happy this way, happier than she ever thought she could be. If her mother taught her to fear being left, Angela taught her to cherish the people who choose to stay.

Therefore, today is important, is the only sort of anniversary they will ever need, and although the first passed largely unremarked upon, both of them having been injured in the field two days before, and not in any particular state to celebrate, this time, Fareeha will do better. This time, she has plans.

Last week, she told Angela to be sure and not work too late today, because it is their anniversary, and she wants to see her. Most of the time, she does not complain about Angela’s late nights, is content to allow her partner to work for as long as possible—knowing how important Angela’s work is to her, to her happiness, her health, her person, she would never ask otherwise, particularly given her own tendencies to overwork—and so, when Fareeha asked that she be sure she was done with work at 1700, just this one day, Angela had no objections.

(In fact, she did not even ask _why _Fareeha was asking that, so Fareeha is fairly confident in the knowledge that Angela has remembered this anniversary, too. A surprise, given that most of the dates Angela commemorates are not pleasant ones.)

This evening, she has reservations at a restaurant off base, one Lúcio promised her was discreet, enough so that Angela will not have to worry about the two of them being seen on a date together, presumably, if Lúcio can eat there and not be seen by the paparazzi. It is not too fancy, either, an important qualification when she asked for a recommendation—both of them like good food, but Fareeha would hardly describe herself as the type who is happiest in formal settings, and Angela finds them downright uncomfortable. It was a big ask, finding a place such as this, but Fareeha has done so, and has picked out clothing for the both of them, as well, so Angela will not have to worry about that either.

Now all she needs is for Angela to arrive back to their quarters, which ought to have happened at least fifteen minutes ago. Usually, Angela is punctual, and although Fareeha would not describe herself as worried—sometimes, medical emergencies pop up, and Angela has to deal with them, although she nearly always ensures Fareeha knows, if that is the case—she is somewhat perturbed. They have plenty of time, of course, because Fareeha did not want Angela to worry about changing, and possibly doing her hair and makeup, before they needed to leave, but still—it is surprising that Angela would not be here, when she agreed that she would, is very unlike her, to be late. 

But surely, there is no need to worry. Probably, someone is injured, or Angela got caught up in an experiment, or is cleaning up her lab.

Probably.

Having been in her particular line of work for as long as she has, however, Fareeha finds it hard to simply brush off her worries, finds herself compelled to go an investigate, just in case. After all, one never knows what could go wrong.

But, probably, Angela is only in her office. Probably, she is typing up notes, making sense of her own scrawled writing and carefully translating it to English, for posterity, such that if anything were ever to happen to her, their next doctor will know about everything that has happened to each one of them, will not endanger them due to an incomplete medical history, or a mistranslated one.

This is easy enough to check, as Angela’s quarters are right next to the medical bay, such that if there is ever an emergency in the nighttime she does not waste precious minutes sprinting from one side of the base to another.

She is not there. Her office is empty, and likely has been for some time, as she keeps it cool when she is there, and the air conditioner has not been on recently, air warmer than Angela likes.

Well, that is not something to worry about, not really. After all, there are countless other places she could be, some more easily checked than others.

Surgery is in the second part of the med bay, past her office and the short term care beds in which Angela forces them all to convalesce until she is certain that her nanites and her own hands have done their work. But when Fareeha punches in the authorization to enter into the hallway leading up to intensive care and the surgical suite—a privilege afforded to her given her role as commander of one of this reformed Overwatch’s strikes—she sees that none of the lights above the doors to the surgical rooms indicate that they are in use. This is both a relief and consternation; no one is grievously wounded, but Angela also is not _here. _

No matter. This was not the only place where her lover might have gone. She has another office, in the engineering wing, from which she does most of her scientific work, requiring the equipment more suited to altering electronics than working with biological samples in order to tweak her nanites, her suit, her staff. Why she has not retrofitted one of the bio labs to her needs, instead of the other way around, eludes Fareeha, particularly when it would be so much closer to where she sleeps, but Fareeha has never asked, never really been curious enough to pry. 

(Somehow, she gets the sense that it_ would_ be prying, to ask. For all of her idiosyncrasies, Angela is a very logical person, at her core, and if she is not doing something, or seems to be avoiding it, then there is probably a reason for that. Which is not to say that said reason is good, but it exists, is usually something rooted in the messy sort of emotions that Angela steadfastly pretends she does not have.)

Out of the med bay Fareeha goes, bypassing the training areas and gym, knowing that there is little chance Angela will be there, when she can avoid it, and instead taking the long way through the common areas and living quarters on her way towards the engineering wing. On her way, she passes a few of their comrades, rolls her eyes when Lena makes some comment on how Fareeha is dressed, right now, because yes, she _does _wear heels sometimes, and no she will not save some height for the rest of them. 

No sign of Angela there, in the kitchen or rec room, unsurprising given that it is Torbjörn’s night to cook, and better than most of them, Angela knows to avoid that. 

Someone else does, too, given the smell Fareeha notices drifting from the rest of the base’s sleeping quarters as she turns away from that hall and towards the engineering wing. Far be it from Fareeha to judge anyone for holding out on the rest of them, given that she and Angela have opted out of group meals as often as they can, ostensibly on the grounds of having dietary restrictions, but she is also curious as to who it is. 

But that is not why she is here—she is looking for Angela. After all, they have plans which involve food which is just as good or better than whatever it is one of their comrades is secretly preparing, and for those plans, she needs to find her partner.

Yet her usual lab is empty here, too, suit and staff mounted in their place on the wall, and when Fareeha checks next door, in the room Satya and Mei like to share, to ask if they have seen Angela, they are also absent. In and of itself, this is not so unusual, Mei and Satya both being rather more dedicated to cultivating a work life balance than she or Fareeha, but still… had Fareeha not seen some of the others in the common kitchen, she might be worried about where everyone has gone.

(At least her question about the good food is likely answered. Fareeha _knew _Satya had to be a better cook than she has thus far demonstrated herself to be. Precise as she is, careful, why would she not be a better cook?)

What, Fareeha wonders, has she missed? 

A text from Angela, evidently. More than one of them.

**angela [16:47]: I’m running a little behind, sorry. Monitoring for signs of concussion unfortunately cannot be rushed, and now that I’m finished, I still have a few things to wrap up. Hopefully I’ll be done no more than a quarter of an hour late.**

**angela [17:07]: I’m here now, where are you?**

**angela [17:13]: Fareeha?**

They are right there on the screen when she fishes her phone out of the surprisingly deep pockets of her jumpsuit, and Fareeha realizes that she must have missed Angela by only a minute or two when she ducked into the med bay to look for her, that Angela must have entered their quarters in that window of time and been waiting on her since then.

**Me [17:24]: be right there**

Says she, and makes her way back to their quarters as quickly as she can, hurrying back to their quarters the quickest way possible, heels clicking on the floor with each step, until she is back to their door, slides it open and finds a familiar smells, realizes—

“You cooked?”

And Angela, at the same time, says, “You were planning on going out?”

“I—yes? Why did you think I asked you to be done with work early?” Sure, Fareeha did not tell Angela where they had reservations, but she thought her general intention was fairly obvious, given how popular a dinner is, as an anniversary date. 

A frown from Angela, “I don’t know,” says she. “You might’ve just wanted to spend more time with me.”

“On our anniversary?” And then, eyes narrowing, “You didn’t forget, did you?” 

“Of course not!” Angela looks a bit affronted by the suggestion, “Why do you think I went through the trouble of cooking dinner in Mei’s kitchen, rather than here? I was going to surprise you.”

_Oh_, thinks Fareeha, and now it makes sense—Angela is, in fact, still one of the few good cooks on base, and it was her work that Fareeha smelled earlier. Unfortunate, in that Fareeha was rather hoping that Satya _did _have some hidden culinary talent, if only so that she might learn a new recipe or two, but at least it explains where Angela was, why Fareeha could not find her.

“It smells nice,” Fareeha offers, and that is true, but given the context, sounds more like an appeasement than anything else. 

“Thank you,” Angela says, but even as she does so, she is picking their plates up from the table, moving in to the kitchen, “But if you wanted to go out, it will keep.”

“No,” Fareeha says, “I mean, you don’t have to. I can just cancel our reservation. There’s still time.” Probably, anyway. If not, Fareeha will just have to tip extraordinarily well, if they go there in the future.

Glancing towards the clock above their oven, Angela asks, “Are you certain? We’re running almost a half hour behind, as it is.”

“It’s fine,” Fareeha says, and does not mention that, although she usually trusts Angela to be timely, she does not trust their teammates to not injure themselves, and thereby resulting in Angela being late, and factored in about 45 minutes for such an occurrence. “You go get changed, and we can have dinner here.” 

“If you’re certain,” says Angela, but she is already moving towards their bedroom as she says it.

Although it is probably unnecessary, Fareeha says, “I am,” before toeing off her shoes in their front entrance, and moving to call the restaurant. In fact, not only is she certain, she quite likes the idea of a fancy dinner in, just the two of them, all dressed up for only each other. And dinner smells quite good, although she is not certain what it is, exactly.

So no, Fareeha is not the least bit disappointed in their plans not quite panning out, up to and including when Angela walks out of their bedroom…

…wearing her daisy yellow housecoat, which is decidedly _not _the smart white suit Fareeha picked to match her own navy jumpsuit. 

Fareeha cannot help but laugh, because _of course _she ought to have specified when she asked Angela to change. After this evening, she really ought to have known better than to assume.

“What’s so funny?” Angela asks, tone making it clear that she is concerned that Fareeha is laughing at _her_.

“I uh, sorta meant that you could change into the clothes I laid out for you,” Fareeha says, and then, quickly, “Not that I mind, of course! I just wasn’t expecting pyjamas.” 

“Ah,” Angela looks a bit chagrined, “Sorry,” but leaves it there, and Fareeha is frankly glad, because whatever it is Angela cooked smells _good_, and she does not want to wait again for Angela to put clothes and makeup back on.

(And at this point, Fareeha might or might not have developed a Pavlovian response to the housecoat in question, courtesy of Angela’s habit of throwing it on over lingerie while waiting for Fareeha to come home.)

“So,” Fareeha says, after a bit of a lull, “Dinner?”

At that, Angela perks up, “Right! I remembered that you liked kibbeh, so I thought I’d make something similar. It isn’t the same as your mother’s recipe, of course, but it was something mine liked to make, so I thought…” For a moment, she is elsewhere, and then, again present, “Well, try it and let me know what you think.”

As always, Angela cuts the dish for the both of them, slices carefully first for Fareeha, and then herself. Even when Fareeha cooks, it is Angela who does this, having fussed over Fareeha’s lack of finesse with a knife long before they were ever dating. She serves, and she sits, and then they toast—even though Fareeha does not drink.

Ritual, Fareeha can appreciate, even if their idea of what constitutes good table manners is very different, and so for the most part they make their way through a meal talking and decidedly _not _looking at one another’s plates.

(It is not that either of them is rude, exactly, just that Fareeha learned table manners from her mother, who drilled into her that using one’s left hand at the table was downright _unsanitary_, whereas Angela eats efficiently, never setting down her utensils until she is done, knife in her right hand and fork in her left. Neither of these habits is going to be unlearned any time soon, and that is all well and good.)

“It’s delicious,” Fareeha tells Angela, and is not lying, “But what _is_ it?” She can taste the lamb, yes, and recognizes pomegranate on the top, and mint in the taste, and the rice is obvious, but it is certainly not kibbeh.

“Chard and lamb torte,” Angela says, and launches into an explanation of the ingredients for Fareeha—which is, in fact, something she appreciates. 

From there, conversation drifts, and drifts, and drifts further until they find that the meal is done, and they are instead discussing the medical plausibility of an—apparently absurd—rumor that Fareeha heard about Catherine the Great.

(Honestly, Fareeha is kind of relieved, but decidedly _less _relieved to hear that the myth about her predecessor’s crown could well be true, anatomically speaking.)

“I did _not _need to know that!” Says she, and tries to put the thought from her mind, because she really, truly, does not want to contemplate what it would feel like.

A little laugh from Angela as she stands to clear her place, “You brought it up.”

“And I regret it! I thought it was a funny story—I didn’t know it would do _that _to you.” Veracity of the claims aside, Fareeha is never going to look at a horse the same way again, and as she rises, too, to clean her plate, she adds, “I’m just glad you told me after dinner.”

“Hopefully it didn’t ruin it for you?” Angela is still obviously very amused, but there is a hint of genuine concern left in her voice.

“No,” Fareeha says, “It was delicious, and definitely worth staying in for.”

“Just don’t get used to it,” Angela says, plucking a plate from Fareeha’s hands in order to dry it. “Because cooking it took far too long for this to be a regular occurrence.”

Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, Fareeha has until now avoided asking, but since Angela broached the subject, “How long _did _it take, exactly?” It is obvious from the number of components that it cannot have been quick, but Fareeha has never made a torte and therefore does not have a clue how long it might have been expected to take.

“Just over three hours,” Angela says, as if that were nothing—or, rather, as if one dinner with Fareeha were worth the time.

Thankfully, she is still holding it over the sink, because Fareeha drops her plate, at that. “Three _hours_?” asks she. “No wonder you were running late! That’s even longer than the round trip for going out would have been.”

“Be careful,” Angela chides, taking the plate from Fareeha and adding it to the drying rack. “And I planned for that. If Brigitte hadn’t nearly given herself a concussion, I would have been on time.”

Pulling Angela out of the kitchen with her, and towards their living room, Fareeha says, “That’s a long time to be on your feet.”

“That may be so,” Angela agrees, “Yes, but I _am _used to it.” 

Surgery does require such, Fareeha knows, but for that, Angela wears ugly orthopedic shoes, ones she was definitely not wearing today, and, “You don’t go out of your way to do it for me, though.”

With a small huff, Angela falls onto the couch where Fareeha has gently pushed her, “If you’re trying to guilt me into cooking this more often,” says she, voice teasing, “You’re going about this the wrong way.”

“I was _trying _to suggest I massage your feet,” Fareeha says, rolling her eyes and kneeling to do so anyway, “So I could use that to transition to massaging your calves, and then from there work my way upwards to seduce you. But you’re awfully determined to make this hard.” Her tone is teasing, but just to be absolutely clear, she beckons Angela to lean forward for a kiss.

Settling back into the couch with a pleased hum, housecoat bunching up around her neck rather absurdly, Angela says, magnanimously, “I suppose I’ll entertain the attempt.”

“Please do,” Fareeha says, “Because this was my backup plan, if wining and dining you didn’t work, and I don’t have a plan c.”

“Not even your winning sense of humor?” Angela asks and then, as if it has just occurred to her, “Wait—you said that a round trip for eating out would have been three hours?”

Not wanting to prove Angela’s comment about her winning sense of humor right quite so quickly, Fareeha manages to repress the urge to make a joke about the usage of the phrase eating out and instead admits that, “Yeah, dinner would’ve been about a forty-minute drive, give or take.”

Now Angela’s voice is sharp, “Fareeha Amari,” says she, “You weren’t expecting me to take your _motorcycle, _were you?”

“Of course not!” Fareeha knows better than to try that, by now, knows that Angela has no interest whatsoever in even discussing riding said bike.

“And how did you think we were going to get to dinner?” By now, Angela is fully sitting up, and not at all relaxed into the couch like Fareeha had hoped.

“Couldn’t we have taken your car?” It is what they usually do.

To Fareeha’s surprise, Angela, who normally is the one to insist that they take her sedan, says, “It’s an awfully long drive to let you use my car for. At this rate, I’m going to add you to my liability insurance.”

“Would you?”

Angela blinks, apparently surprised by Fareeha’s tone, “I was joking but… it would probably be for the best, just in case. And if you _want _me to, then…?”

“I do,” Fareeha says, and tries not to sound too excited, because this is an extra cost, she knows, for one or both of them, and is quite a bit of paperwork besides, but—well, it is something _tangible_. Maybe they will never be married, but this is something tying them to one another, financially and on paper, in its own way, is a commitment in and of itself, has an expectation that comes with it, that the two of them will be sharing a vehicle in the long term.

And maybe talking about insurance does not excite Fareeha but that, the promise of a future with Angela? That does.

Angela pulls her in for a kiss, then, “You’re ridiculous,” says she, and then another, deeper kiss, “I’ve never known someone who got so excited over something so mundane.”

“Well, it _is _a big commitment, isn’t it?” Fareeha says, trying to look at Angela’s eyes and not the smear of her own lipstick across her lover’s lips, “Shared insurance. Usually that’s reserved for married couples.”

“I suppose,” Angela bites her lip, looks away, “When you put it that way…”

_Shit_, thinks Fareeha, because that is not the sort of reaction she wanted. “If you don’t want to—”

“No,” says Angela, “No, I don’t mind, it’s only… I didn’t think of it at all. It just makes sense to add you, because we _are _very committed to each other, aren’t we?” 

“Yes,” Fareeha agrees, “I think we are.”

“It’s nice,” says Angela. “I’m glad that we are—that I know you’ll be around.”

“I am too,” Fareeha says, and hopes her grin does not look too dopey.

In lieu of replying, Angela kisses her, deeper this time, one cold hand beneath Fareeha’s chin and the other tangled in her hair, the sort of kiss which means that she cannot think Fareeha looked _too _ridiculous, moments before, or sounded it. It is not a particularly sexual kiss, either, but it is a passionate one in a different way, emotionally charged, full of a different sort of promise.

No, this is not a wedding, but it is the anniversary of something significant, nonetheless, is the beginning of an important chapter in Fareeha’s life. It is not a substitution for a wedding date, but is instead in and of itself a day worth marking, and marking well.

(It is not a wedding, but that may happen yet.)

It is not a wedding, but Fareeha does not _need _such a thing from Angela, does not need to exchange rings to know that they are building a future together, and that Angela wants her to be around for as long as they both are happy.

That is enough, is more than, is worth celebrating.

Come what may, Fareeha will think of this day for the rest of her life, will see May 13th on the calendar, and it will never be without significance again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick notes since this is set many years in the future:  
\- as per other fics in this series, fareeha and angela have a daughter, izzah, who is mentioned here  
\- as per wips ive never posted, they end up adopting two more children, one of whom is mentioned in here by name, elanah  
\- there are allusions to something ive... alluded to many other times. and menitoned explicitly in like one other fic (i think my yom kippur one?) that the reason angela's replaced her spine isnt for the valkyrie, but rather bc she has an inherited genetic disorder, ankylosing spondylitis, and yeah...
> 
> also the first person to say that fareeha should be strike commander, afaik, was my dear friend vice, way back in may 2016. many ppl saw that post, and then have since said the same, but u know, theyre the op, so credit to them for that one

Most people would agree, no matter their opinion on her as a person, that Angela is a woman of many talents. Her work in medicine, in technology, and in activism have proven this, and even her strongest of detractors would be hard-pressed to deny her accomplishments.

However, even charitably, Angela could not be said to be good at the art of gift-giving.

Over the years she has, on occasion, given a few very good gifts, but those are more a fluke than anything. Yes, she knows well what the people she loves like, and _yes_, she does have a relatively good financial situation, putting her at an advantage when it comes to giving gifts, but somehow, these two things do not seem to translate very well into the art of giving good gifts. She has been fortunate, over the last twenty-five years, to have been married to Fareeha, who is very _good _at gift giving, and therefore to have gotten half credit, but as everyone who truly knows her is well aware, all of the best gifts are Fareeha’s idea.

This is not for a lack of trying, of course, but more than once Angela has found herself in the awkward position of buying for someone something which they already own, and therefore now prefers to get people things like a nice sweater, or a fancy tea blend, something which one cannot have too many of—and, when the gift recipient is her wife, she has resorted to just asking Fareeha what it is she wants.

Unfortunately, Fareeha is not terribly helpful. _I’ll love anything you give me_ is her common refrain, and that may be so, but Angela is certain that some things would be more beloved than others, and wishes Fareeha would just tell her what those are. 

So this year, rather than asking her friends or children for advice, Angela has decided to get ahead of the problem by making a deal with Fareeha—for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, they are not exchanging presents. They are, instead, taking the day off, to spend with one another, and, on Friday, flying out for a week to the same cabin in Canada at which they honeymooned, twenty-five Septembers ago. This is, Angela thinks, reasonable enough.

Except, _except_, Fareeha has gotten something for her. Angela just knows it. No, Fareeha has not said anything, no, Angela has not been able to find anything in their bank statements to indicate as much, and no, she has not found any evidence when snooping around in Fareeha’s closet or desk, but there _is _something, there has to be. After all, Fareeha has been very happy as of late, suspiciously so, walking with the sort of spring in her step she has not had in a good ten years, humming to herself while working, and making rather strange statements about the future.

Fareeha must be hiding something. She must! After twenty-five years, Angela may not have learned how to give a good present, but she certainly has learned Fareeha’s behaviors, and she can tell very well what is normal behavior for her wife and what is not.

Even more unusual for Fareeha is the fact that she is successfully denying the existence of said gift. A few days ago, concerned because, of course, she is following the terms of their agreement and did not buy anything, Angela decided to ask Fareeha what it was she bought, and Fareeha told her _We agreed not to buy anything, _and when Angela said _You might have bought something anyway, _Fareeha insisted _I didn’t, _and it was believable. So, naturally, Angela asked, _What did you make?_ because Fareeha may not be a good liar, but she does know how to misdirect. That, too, was a bust, as were all of the variations on the questions Angela put forth, including asking what Fareeha had planned for the two of them, and so Angela admitted defeat, and stopped asking, but even now, mid-afternoon on the day of their anniversary, having enjoyed lazy morning sex and a lovely brunch, she is wondering.

Because Fareeha is hiding something, and Fareeha never hides anything.

In fact, Fareeha may be constitutionally incapable of deception. Perhaps it is in reaction to her mother’s faked death, or perhaps it is simply her nature, but lying is anathema to her. Normally, Angela considers this a good thing, because she too is unskilled at deception, to say the least, but somehow that makes the very rare instance in which Fareeha manages to misdirect her less amusing and exciting and more concerning. What has a woman like Fareeha to hide?

(Angela remembers what her predecessor hid, remembers all the things Jack swept under the rug as Strike Commander. Fareeha is not that sort of leader, and never has been, but she knows that there is still a need for secret ops, from time to time, knows that Jesse handles those, and she wonders—did he do something? Is something amiss? No, no of course not, because the two of them would not force Angela to worry over such a thing, would at least be honest with her if that was the case, but the old Overwatch still leaves a lingering taste in her mouth, and Angela will never be fully at ease with the Recall, especially since she retired from working with it a decade ago in order to pursue research full time once more.)

So maybe Angela is less _excited _by Fareeha’s behavior and more _worried_, if she is being honest. If, by now, the afternoon of their anniversary, Fareeha has not come forth with whatever it is she is hiding, then it may have nothing to do with a present for Angela at all. Perhaps it is something far, far worse.

But what?

Now, Angela stops to fully take stock of the situation she finds herself in.

It is their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, one which, by all accounts, ought to be quite significant, but instead of doing anything, or going anywhere, instead of making any grand gestures at all, they are doing the same thing which they might have done before they were ever even married, resting on their couch together, Fareeha reading a book of poetry on her preferred end and Angela trying to make a list of all the things they need to prepare for Izzah in the next five months on the other.

They need to do so very, _very _many things, and Angela has been stressing about it for weeks, if she is being honest, has not stopped worrying since Izzah told them that she was pregnant, because twenty-one is far too young to be having a baby, and yet Fareeha has been calm. _Don’t worry about it_, she has been insisting, _It’ll be fine_.

Angela is not sure how it could possibly be fine, given that in order to ensure Izzah does not fall behind in her studies, she has volunteered to help take care of the baby, despite having found babies overwhelming in her forties, when Izzah was born, let alone now, when her knees ache when she squats down and she has not the energy to be woken a half dozen times in the night, but still, somehow, Fareeha either does not notice her worry or does not care.

Either, she thinks, is a very bad sign.

For a moment, she worries that perhaps something is wrong with Fareeha, and she does not know, even though she has not been Fareeha’s doctor since she stopped working with Overwatch, she knows that Baptiste, who succeeded her, would have told her if anything were wrong with her wife, or at least would have admitted it to Jesse, who would have then told her. Not only that, but she has not observed any symptoms—and she watches for man, concerned that, although Fareeha quit smoking decades ago, now, her old vice may yet have consequences—other than the typical signs of aging one might expect in a woman in her early sixties, nothing that might indicate some sort of a problem, and maybe a sudden lack of care in some might be a symptom of a developing cognitive problem, such a dementia, but Fareeha is sharp as ever.

No, Angela would have noticed Fareeha leaving keys in their freezer, or forgetting why she walked into rooms, would have noticed any dramatic shifts in her mood, and there have not been any, other than her unusual happiness, over the last few weeks, and that is hardly a bad sign, does not seem indicative of anything.

But would the Fareeha of twenty-five years ago let an anniversary pass without some sort of larger observance?

Absolutely not.

Unlike Angela, who observes such things because she knows they are important to other people, or because her religion asks it of her, Fareeha _loves _any sort of holiday, any sort of celebration, usually takes any excuse to mark an occasion. 

But not this one, not this time.

Maybe she is just tired—her hours have been longer, lately, after all. 

What exactly is happening at Overwatch, Angela does not know, nor does she particularly want to, unless is directly concerns the people about whom she cares. That is not her life, anymore, and she is happy to have it behind her, happy to be at a place in her life where she no longer feels she must run herself into the ground, day in and day out, in order to make up for having survived, when her family did not. Finally, she feels she has done enough for the world, is making enough of a difference by working a few hours a day, and is able to be a little selfish, a little short-sighted, and she does not want to ruin that by growing too invested, again, in what Overwatch does. To do so would only hurt her, when now she cannot help them as she once could, something she has fought hard to accept.

(It may have taken her third spinal implant failing, and the subsequent recovery period, for Angela to accept that she cannot be everywhere, cannot do everything, but she has, now, and she does not want to jeopardize her hard won peace. Still, it was difficult to accept that although she could delay, for decades, the consequences of the illness with which she was born, she cannot remove it entirely, not without fundamentally altering her DNA, a step which she has always been unwilling to take. She was lucky to have Genji as a friend through that process, to help her learn that just because her body is changed, just because there are certain things she can no longer do, does not make it any less _hers_, and slowly, she is accepting the limitations she thought she could cheat.)

No, she does not know what is keeping Fareeha so busy, and she does not want to, not truly, but it _does _bother her, from time to time. Why are her wife’s hours so late? What is she doing, when she takes phone calls outside? What do the others know, that Angela does not?

Something, surely. Even their children seem to have some inkling, Elanah having made some comment upon leaving for university a month earlier about how it was not that big of a deal, comparatively.

At the time, Angela thought Elanah meant compared to Izzah’s pregnancy, but now, she realizes, Izzah had not told her siblings yet, and their eldest, too, is not doing anything new in their life, that Angela knows, although they are certainly very happy.

So what is it? What does Elanah know?

If it were any other day, Angela would simply ask Ana. Defying all expectation, her mother-in-law is still alive, and healthy, too, for a woman of her age, but today, she can hardly call, because Ana would surely ask her why she was bothering her and not enjoying her anniversary.

And, in fact, Angela would _like _to be enjoying her anniversary, would be, were it not for the fact that something is clearly amiss with Fareeha. This is precisely the sort of day she ha din mind, a quiet, ordinary one, the sort that she likes, that reminds her how lucky she is to be able to be around Fareeha every day, and not just the special ones, that any moment with Fareeha in her life can be special.

(That, and, only planning to stay in meant that Angela did not have to worry about taking her time with Fareeha in bed this morning. It may be harder to find time for, lately, and might take a little longer, too, but Angela certainly has no complaints in _that _area of their relationship. In fact, she is quite satisfied—and Fareeha was too, this morning, more than once.)

No, other than this, Angela is very happy, finds her wife just as beautiful as she was the day they married, even if in a different sort of way, her hair now grey at the temples, in two streaks like her father’s was at her age, wrinkles on her face from having worried a little too much, and laughed even more, and perhaps five or so extra pounds at her waistline, which she could more than afford to put on.

But is Fareeha happy with her?

It strikes her, in that moment, that maybe, there is an obvious explanation to what is going on, is something that many other people might have guessed far quicker than she herself did. 

Fareeha is beautiful, Fareeha is still very fit, Fareeha is working in the same place she was when the two of them met, with many of the same friends, and same duties. The same cannot be said of Angela, who feels she is aging faster, now that she is not handling her nanites every day, who is beginning to show more symptoms of the spinal degeneration she has been staving off since she was a teenager, who left their workplace and now spends her time not on base, with everyone else, but at home and in a private lab, when she is not travelling to consult with others and present at conferences.

Fareeha is a good person, Angela does not doubt that for a moment, is very principled, is the sort who would never do anything which she considers to be morally wrong—but if she were to fall for someone else, who would blame her? Their children have all moved out, now, and Angela has changed so very much, and falling in love is hardly a crime, is it?

An affair would be, at least in Angela’s eyes, but she does not believe that Fareeha would cheat on her, not ever.

But leave her?

If she fell for someone else, Angela knows that Fareeha would think that was the right thing to do. They discussed it, years ago, when their relationship was still new, their thoughts on exclusivity, and Fareeha said that she was not interested in anyone else, in any way, would stay with Angela for as long as she loved her, but thought it would be cruel to stay in a relationship with one person while in love with another; likely, she believes that still. 

What if that is what this is?

What if Fareeha’s big change is that, moving out, moving on? What if that is why she seems happier, lately, the first flush of a new love? What if that is why she is so busy—not an affair, because Fareeha would not do that, but working out a way to extract herself from Angela, from the life and home they have built together? What if that is why, suddenly, she did not mind a quiet anniversary, when all the ones previous she has insisted were more romantic, in a way that she prefers?

It would make sense.

Angela would hate for it to be true, but it would make sense.

So, in a moment very unlike herself, Angela, rather than consider carefully what she is going to say, or otherwise examine this issue, asks.

“Are you going to leave?”

At first, Fareeha seems confused. She blinks, once, and, not even closing her book, turns to look at Angela, “I was hoping to finish this section before picking up dinner.”

_Of course _Fareeha would think this was about dinner. Prepared as she is for anything in the field, it always seems to fall to Angela to consider the worst in their personal lives.

“Not dinner,” says she, sounding far more worried than exasperated, “_Me_.”

Now, Fareeha takes off her reading glasses—having stubbornly refused to let Angela fix her eyes—and sets her book down on the side table, “What?”

“Are you leaving me,” Angela repeats, and her voice wavers, just a bit, despite her attempt to keep it calm.

“_What_?” This time, Fareeha is louder, and decidedly concerned. “Of course not—why would I—_Angela_,” her voice turns more reassuring, though the concern lingers, and she moves over on the couch to put a hand on Angela’s shoulder, “I have no plans on leaving you.”

Fareeha does not lie, this Angela has known for years. Unlike Angela, who simply has a distaste for the practice, Fareeha _cannot _lie successfully, has the worst poker face of anyone either of them have ever met. Therefore, this must be true.

Moreover, she sounds truthful, and the weight of her hand on Angela’s shoulder, the familiar chill of her prosthetic, is comforting, grounding. Angela feels silly for having entertained the notion, even if it was only for one horrified second before she asked the question.

(And, really, Angela should not have asked. Normally, she considers things so carefully before proceeding, and if Fareeha had not been here, sitting with her, if it had not been today, their anniversary, she would have thought about it for a few moments longer and realized that no, that idea is ridiculous. Strange as Fareeha is behaving, she has not been acting any less loving, of late, and as inclined towards monogamy as Fareeha is, that ought to be proof enough that she his not interested in anyone else.)

Of course, the question remains of why it is that Fareeha has been acting as she has, but Angela does not think that now is, necessarily, the right time to ask. 

Instead, all she says is, “Oh,” very relieved, and, “That’s good.”

Unable, even now, to resist a somewhat lame joke, Fareeha says, “Only good? Surely I’m at least _great_.”

Angela moves closer to Fareeha, too, turns her body towards her wife and smiles, “You’re perfect,” says she, and tries to lean in for a kiss.

A finger stops her, held up by Fareeha between them, “Don’t think we’re just dropping this,” says she, “Much as I appreciate you having stroked my ego—you thought I was _leaving _you?”

“No!” says Angela, because she worried, for a moment, but she did not _really _believe it, not in any concrete sense. A momentary worry, that was all it was, nothing more, a moment of insecurity, a fleeting need for reassurance. Nothing worth discussing, and embarrassing, besides. “I know you wouldn’t,” and it is true.

This does not appease Fareeha, not one bit. “If you didn’t think it, why ask me?”

“I just needed to hear it,” says she, “I just felt…” she looks away, embarrassed and a little ashamed, because Fareeha has always been so confident, too, and she can be, in her own way, but she knows how this must seem, how this must sound, so _needy_, not the sort of wife she ever wanted to be. But Fareeha appreciates honesty, so honesty she shall have, “It’s hard, us being apart so often, and you doing so much more than I ca—than I do. I know I shouldn’t have let it get to me, but…”

But it does. For so many years, they were partners, and now, they are not, and that is fine, because they still love one another, still support one another, but even after several years it is a loss that Angela is sometimes better at accepting than others. One day, she will have come to terms with it full, but that day is not today.

“I’m going to travel less,” Fareeha says, confident as ever, and that makes Angela more afraid than the momentary worry she had earlier, about whether or not Fareeha would want to stay with her.

Whipping her head around to face Fareeha again, Angela insists that, “No!” Fareeha should not do that, least of all because she _worries. _Worrying is just what Angela does, when she has nothing more to occupy her.

(These days, she worries far less than she used to, yes, and usually less catastrophically, with fewer panic attacks, less overall severe anxiety, but that does not mean she is cured. Neither she nor Fareeha ever will be, and they have long since accepted that. Her worries now are usually smaller things, such as whether or not she turned off the coffee maker when she left for the lab, but they will always be present, just as Fareeha will always have some fitful nights, even if she can fall back asleep easier now, and will always struggle to reconcile the things she has done on the field with the woman she is off of it. Smaller worries, however, are still _worries_, and that is something Angela cannot fix.)

A frown, from Fareeha, and now she seems the more worried party, “You don’t want me to retire?”

“Not for _me_,” Angela says, “No.” If Fareeha were to do so for herself, of course, Angela would not object, would, in fact, worry less, because her wife’s life would be less dangerous, but to _ask _for that? Angela could never. That would make the both of them miserable, and Angela’s only condition, when she and Fareeha were drafting her vows, was that Fareeha never try and prevent her from working where she felt she was most needed, no matter how far away or dangerous that was, even if it involved her leaving Overwatch. To ask the same of Fareeha now would be immensely hypocritical, and deeply disrespectful to Fareeha’s ambitions, to her identity, to what she has already given up in her life in order to do the job that she does.

“But if I wanted to…?”

Of course Angela would be happy, if Fareeha wanted to. She does not want to believe that her wife will be in the field for as long as her mother-in-law was, hopes that Fareeha has more sense than Ana, but if the day comes that that is truly what Fareeha wants, Angela will not try to _stop _her.

Although Angela would like to say that she would be relieved, she is also afraid of indirectly pressuring Fareeha, so what she answers is only, “It would be your choice,” and then, after a brief pause, “I’m sorry. Can we go back to what we were doing?” 

“In a minute,” Fareeha says, apparently not at all relieved by her answer. “I _do _still need to know if there’s anything…” A pause, and then, “Why were you worrying about me leaving you _now_? Am I doing something wrong?”

“No,” says Angela, because it is true, Fareeha is not doing anything wrong, per se, only things which worry her. “I was just worrying, really. It’s just… You’ve been acting very happy, lately.”

Usually, Angela thinks, this would make Fareeha laugh, that her acting happy would worry Angela, but now it only deepens her frown, “My being happy worries you?”

That is not at _all _what Angela meant, but apparently even twenty-five years of marriage has not made them immune to miscommunication and misunderstanding. “Of course not! It’s only that… in conjunction with you also working more, and Elanah talking about major life changes, and—you _seem _like you’re planning something, that’s all. Something big.”

Now, Fareeha’s expression is strange.

Instantly, Angela knows she was right all along. Fareeha cannot hide anything, and she cannot lie, and now Angela has caught her.

“Well,” says Fareeha very slowly, and very carefully, “There _might _be a reason for all that.”

“Oh might there?” asks Angela, arching an eyebrow, very eager to get to the bottom of this but also not wanting to show just how much this has bothered her, not knowing.

“Yes,” says Fareeha, “But why not assume I just had an anniversary surprise for you?”

“I did at first,” says Angela, sounding only a tiny bit exasperated, “But it’s 16:45 on our anniversary, and you haven’t said a thing.”

Looking at her watch, Fareeha says, “Is it really?” and then, “Oh, wow,” while Angela waits for her to get to the matter at hand. “I _might _have been hoping to surprise you on our trip,” says she, finally.

“Fareeha!” Angela scolds, if half-heartedly, “I thought we agreed that we weren’t giving gifts.”

“It’s not _really_ a gift,” Fareeha explains, “It’s more… something for me that you’ll also like. I hope.”

Now, Angela might be more confused than when this conversation began, and she is not about to let that slide, “You’re not going to just say that and not tell me, surely?”

“I haven’t got everything in order yet,” Fareeha prefaces, “So it’s not official, and probably won’t be for another month or two, but… I’m retiring. Hopefully before Izzah has the baby, but if her baby is anything like she was, then it might be a bit close.”

“Oh,” says Angela, because this was, frankly, the last thing she expected.

Fareeha’s brow knits, exaggerating the wrinkles that have appeared in her forehead over the past few years, “Just ‘Oh?’”

“I’m glad!” Angela insists, “Very glad. I’ve missed having you around, and—it’s one less thing to worry about, certainly. It’s only that this is very sudden, and… Are you sure?”

Both of Fareeha’s hands hold hers, now, “Angela,” asks she, “When am I _not _sure?”

That is, in fact, a very fair point. Fareeha is perhaps the only person in the world as stubborn and certain of herself as Angela is, which is why the two of them are so well matched to one another. Even if she wanted to, Angela could never dissuade Fareeha from her work in Overwatch, and neither could anyone else. If Fareeha says that this is something she wants to do, then that must be so.

“Alright,” says Angela, “In that case, I’m happy for you. But—you told Elanah before me?”

“I was _planning _to involve all of our children in surprising you with the news, yes,” Fareeha confirms, “On our vacation, which is _this weekend_. That was five months of work, I’ll have you know.”

Somewhat sheepishly, Angela says, “Ah, sorry.”

“Just act surprised when they show up, will you?” Fareeha asks.

“You know I can’t do that,” Angela laughs as she says it, but it is true. “And it’s probably for the best that you didn’t surprise me, anyway.”

“Why?”

A happy hum from Angela and then, “Yes. We _are _recreating our honeymoon. I have plans too, you know. Plans that our children very much would _not _like to walk in on.”

A familiar sparkle is in Fareeha’s eye when she asks, “Is that so?”

“Oh yes,” Angela confirms, leaning in close enough that she is certain Fareeha can feel her breath on her lips. “You are, after all, so very irresistible.”

“Perhaps,” Fareeha suggests, “You could demonstrate some of your plans?”

Fareeha makes to kiss her, then, fingers threading in her hair and lips moving towards hers, when Angela pulls back, “What, now?”

“Why not now?”

Angela rolls her eyes, at that, “We aren’t in our thirties anymore, Fareeha. If you’re going to try and sleep with me twice in one day, I really am going to need you to at least fetch dinner first.”

There is no way Angela is going to be in any mood—or state—to get out of bed and eat after Fareeha is done with her, she is certain.

“Alright, alright,” Fareeha says, “I’m going, but at least give me a kiss for the road?”

Angela obliges, only breaking the kiss when Fareeha gets cheeky and tries to slip her tongue in after all. Somewhat breathless she asks, “What, not going to finish that section of your book?”

“Suddenly,” Fareeha says, giving Angela a winning smile, “It doesn’t seem so interesting.”

“You’re insatiable,” Angela tells her, “Now _go_.”

While Fareeha does, she is going to go and get changed into something that she, too, got to surprise Fareeha on their trip.

After all, as Fareeha pointed out, a surprise on the trip in no way violated their rule of not giving gifts, and she really, _really _does not want her children to see this.

Regardless of whether or not Angela is good at exchanging presents, she knows this: Fareeha is going to enjoy what it is she bought for her, and _she _is going to enjoy the—objectively, far superior—gift Fareeha has given her: time.

(Time that she, truthfully, never believed they would have. The two of them almost died together on a mission days before their first anniversary as a couple, let alone their first wedding anniversary. That they are still here, alive, and able to appreciate that after twenty-five years of marriage, is more than Angela ever dared dream for the two of them, is more than she ever could have hoped for.)

To be able to have more time to one another again, as partners, on equal footing, to be able to exist in civilian life together, to learn to live a quiet sort of life, and raise their first grandchild with one another, that is truly the greatest gift of all. Angela will never top that, never could.

And that, she is okay with.

Fareeha has always been the better gift giver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that is that
> 
> now that fareehas retired (mostly) shes gonna like, consult, and also throw herself into being her grandchilds sports coach as soon as theyre old enough to join a team, and other such things. angela meanwhile is still trying to cure cancer, and also enjoying being a grandmother. ana cant believe shes lived long enough to be a great-grandma, and enjoys a few good years of spoiling the fuck out of said kid. izzah DOES finish school on time, and even goes on to grad school... with a lot of help from her mothers, since they help take care of her (very unplanned, but very loved) baby
> 
> the end...
> 
> ...of this fic, but not this series. i have way too many wips to close w this, lmao
> 
> hope u enjoyed, and as always, lmk ur thoughts!

**Author's Note:**

> sadaqah = charity   
sadaqah jariyah = charity with a legacy lasting beyond the death of the doer, basically. theres more religious importance than just that but ill get into it in another fic
> 
> chard and lamb torte is similar to kibbeh in that the texture, main ingredients, and cultural flavor profiles are the same/similar, but the actual flavor profiles of the dishes themselves are very, very different. so basically angela picked something at once very familiar and entirely new to fareeha. truly a sublime experience
> 
> also angela drives a sedan (because they have great safety ratings) thats electric bc someone (mei) wouldnt let her hear the end of it if her vehicle was bad for the environment. fareeha has a motorcycle bc duh. pilot.
> 
> ill get to ch2 when i can, but theyre both kinda standalone


End file.
